The Perfect Gift
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: What do you give the man who has everything - that's what Illya would like to know...  Warnings - silliness and bad puns ahead.


Illya Kuryakin leaned back in his chair and chucked the wad of paper at his overflowing waste basket. It bounded off the rim and fell to join its brethren littering the ground around the immediate area. Illya sighed and wadded up another piece of paper.

He'd just taken the shot when Mark Slate walked in and it bounced off his head. "Ow."

"If that was a bullet, you'd be dead."

"If that was a bullet, so would you, mate." Mark nodded to a camera.

"Not likely, I keep rewiring that, just to keep them on their toes. " Illya began to roll another piece of paper up.

"Surveillance must love you." Mark looked down at the mess and then back up at his fellow agent. "I was going to ask you if you had any spare G-12-54-1/P's, but now I'm afraid to."

"Try the one nearest your left foot." Illya gestured in the general area and tossed the newly formed ball towards the basket. This time it went in. "Why don't you just ask Margaret for one?"

"She's on Maternity Leave."

"She's pregnant?"

"Nothing escapes your keen observation."

"I just thought she was putting on weight."

"Women don't usually throw their friends 'fat' parties," Mark said as Illya rolled his eyes and reached for more paper. "Oh, wait, you weren't here for it." Mark kicked a couple pieces closer to the trash can. "So, why the flagrant waste of paper, mate? Never figured you for wasting time like this."

"I'm not wasting time, I'm trying to think."

"About what?"

"What do you get a man who has everything he wants and you can afford?"

"Let me see, Napoleon?"

"His birthday is in a couple of weeks and I do not have the faintest clue what to get him." Illya tossed another piece. "I'd like it to be unique and not something anyone else is likely to give him, yet not so esoteric that it is pointless and, worse, useless. He'll get enough of those from his lady friends."

"So think about what you do best and work backwards from there, that's what Mum always used to tell me. If you can cook-" Illya snorted and Mark grinned. "You could make him a meal. What are you really good at, mate?"

"I like blowing things up."

"That's not bloody helpful."

Illya snapped his fingers. "I just got an idea. Thanks, Mark, I owe you one." With that, Illya was on his feet and out the door, leaving the bemused Brit behind.

"I don't need one, mate," Mark said staring after him. "I need a G-12-54-1/P." Sighing, he started smoothing out the nearest wrinkled paper.

Napoleon slowly unwrapped Illya's gift, just the slightest bit tense. Illya could always be trusted to be creative when it came to gifts. Even prepared, Napoleon's mouth dropped open.

"Condom?" Now he understood why Illya had insisted upon him opening the gift in their office and not at the birthday party scheduled for later. "Um, not to be picky, but isn't that a rather personal and, if I might add, odd gift for one man to give another?"

"Not necessarily. These are very special condoms. They're explosives."

Napoleon's mouth worked for a moment. "A bit more explanation please?"

Illya took the box and dug out a foil package. "Expose this to air and it explodes. It takes about ten to fifteen minutes, the test results varied, but make sure you are at least twenty feet from it when it goes."

"And may I ask the purpose for these, aside from just plain spite?"

"Last time you were captured, what was the only thing left in your pocket?"

"Huh, I hadn't thought about that."

"I made the packaging black, so you'd not likely to get it mixed up with your usual brand." Illya grinned. "Just make sure you have the lights on should you reach for one for other purposes."

"Thank you, I think." And Napoleon quickly tucked the package out of sight as their secretary entered, carrying a bouquet of flowers.

Illya wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand and sighed.

"Try again, Kuryakin," Buck Fulton said, the loudspeaker distorting his voice.

"I've been trying for an hour now," Illya muttered, settling the ear protection in place. He carefully manipulated his head from side to side and then swept a hand through his hair. His double vision had nearly cleared up, but apparently for not enough him to qualify. That didn't stop him from trying though.

He was halfway through his clip when a familiar tickle at the back of his neck told him that Napoleon was nearby. He paused and a moment later Napoleon approached him, motioning to him.

Fulton saw them and toggled on the speaker. "Make the line safe, gentlemen. Mr. Solo, if you have business with Mr. Kuryakin, take it outside."

Napoleon gave Fulton a 'thumbs up' signal and waited for Illya to drop his half spent clip, clear the pistol and holster it. He walked from the range into the locker room with Illya trailing behind.

Illya pulled the ear protection from his head and grunted as Napoleon caught him in a rough bear hug.

"Okay, I am assuming you are motivated by the purest reasons for that display," Illya said, pulling away.

"If you were a woman, I'd kiss you."

Illya held up a hand. "I'm not and what's going on?"

"Those condoms of yours - they saved my life." Three nearby agents glanced in their direction and one snickered. Napoleon glanced in their direction and smiled contritely. "Sorry."

"That's all right," Illya muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "Grist for the mill. They worked then?"

"Better than you could have imagined. I was captured by THRUSH and stripped."

"Not much help there."

"No, but before the head THRUSH and his very capable lady friend began to dissect me, they apparently decided to try out one of the condoms. Blew out an entire wall and that was enough of a distraction to allow me time to escape."

"I see." Illya's face grew sober for a moment and he sighed. "I suppose that gives a whole new meaning to the term blow job, doesn't it?"


End file.
